


Forgotten

by GalaxyAqua



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, Super Dangan Ronpa 2
Genre: M/M, Memory Loss, POV Second Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-10
Updated: 2015-06-10
Packaged: 2018-04-03 19:02:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,180
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4111648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GalaxyAqua/pseuds/GalaxyAqua
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Even after he asked, in the quietest voice, “Who are you?” on that faint summer evening, and you bruised your knuckles against the wall in a fit of angry tears.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Forgotten

He’s deteriorating.

Not physically, no. On the outside, he’s as beautiful as he always was – more beautiful than anyone you had ever met, honestly; sharp and slender, with a tone of grace and an air of mystery, and haunting, enrapturing grey eyes. You had been caught, drawn to him easily like a moth to a flame at first glance, but now you know the worst of it.

Eventually he’s going to fall to pieces, and you try and you try to patch him up but the pieces keep falling – his façade cracks and splits and you can’t do anything but watch.

You _love_ him, you really do, and the more he breaks, the harder it hits you. He’s never going to be the same again, you realize, as you’re holding his trembling hand, at his hospital bedside, watching coldly the sobs that rack his body; he’s tearing apart and beyond help and soon he’ll be gone. Soon, so soon, you won’t remember ever being able to feel his warmth, his deep-rooted affection – his cutting words. You won’t be able to see that smile like a slash across his face, hear his maddened laughter; watch him fall, go and lose himself in something you can’t see.

It’s absolutely distressing, the way he’s become, but not once did you stop loving him.

They, all the others you used to know, had a habit of saying to you: “Hinata, you’re in love with a madman.”

You always had, and continue to have the same reply,

“I know.”

Perhaps now, you feel the weight of those words. But it’s the truth – you can’t stop loving him even after he turns the house inside out after an ill-timed nightmare, even after he argues with you for hours on end. Even after he stops kissing you good morning and good night. Even after he looks at you and can’t distinguish you from the next person anymore.

Even after he asked, in the quietest voice, “Who are you?” on that faint summer evening, and you bruised your knuckles against the wall in a fit of angry tears.

His hair is still the purest shade of white, soft like cotton under your fingertips, and he is still as beautiful as the day you met. You don’t think that will ever change. Your heart aches. It takes everything in your being to remain where you are.

He calms, as you card your fingers through his hair ever so gently, and you, with the daintiest admiration for his sweetness, want to wrap your arms around his lithe form for some portion of eternity. You don’t. It is not the right place, and the right time will not ever show itself again. The feeling of regret, anguish and loss twist in your gut as he slumbers and you are tragically guilty of wanting to punch him in the face. You always had the urge, but this time … it’s different.

He is peaceful. You are not. Your body is flaming on the inside – full of suppressed emotion and burning, burning frustration in the fact that your lover will see your face for as long as you allow him, but never see _you_. Never see the love you laid bare for him, never see the steadfast loneliness curling behind your apparent indifference, never see what you both once had but will never have again.

Not once more will you hear, “I love you,” spill from shy, broken lips.

Not once more will you feel his pale hands clinging to you, desperate for you to “stay”, desperate for you to “forgive”.

You want to cry, but you’ve cried enough. Your tears do nothing for him. Nothing for you.

You want to say now, belated as you are, “I love you too. I’ll stay with you, I promise. I forgive you. I’m sorry. Please, don’t do this to me.”

But when he looks at you, with that empty curiosity, you cannot say a word.

Well, even if you did, he wouldn’t understand.

“Please don’t forget me,” you want to say. Your throat feels numb. “Please don’t forget about us.”

But he’s already forgotten, so you don’t.

You know that even a miracle couldn’t save you.

You shouldn’t have fallen in love with this person, you think, not for the first time. He’s caused you nothing but pain; nothing but pain, and some of the happiest moments of your life. Memories that now only you possess, and sacred occasions only you remember.

Your gaze falls upon him again. You beg with all your soul that you could tell him that you love him one last time.

One last time, you say solemnly to yourself. Selfish, you think. You are so selfish. But you are selfishly in love with a fragmented statue of what was once a beautiful, caring man, and you just want one last chance.

You don’t think it is a chance that you’ll be blessed with.

However, when you finally decide to pull your hands free from him, a nail catches in his hair and he startles awake, momentarily aware and alert. You flinch. He stares.

“Hinata-kun,” he whispers urgently, eyes wide and frantic, and your breath catches.

“… hi.” You say dumbly. The excitement leaves you as soon as it came. You don’t have the capacity to hope for anything more than this – because soon, soon it will be over.

“I’m sorry,” he tells you, and his tone is genuine. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

Though you want to tell him that it isn’t his fault; you can’t. Deep down, you’re blaming him like you always do, for each and every downfall in your once-shared lives.

So you settle with, “I’m sorry, too.”

“No,” he replies, meekly earnest. His voice sounds distant and lost. “You’ve done all that you can.”

“I haven’t done anything,” you answer truthfully.

He tilts his head to the side, and hesitates, before flicking a lock of hair over his ear and asking, “… who are you again?”

You can’t say you’re surprised.

“Nobody special,” a slight smile forms on the roof of your lie. “Get better soon, Komaeda.”

How cruel. You already know he’s doomed to let go of everything – and you’re no longer going to be around to help pick up the pieces.

His response, understandably, comes delayed.

“… thank you, sir.”

You’re irreparable.

“You’re welcome.”

He shuffles a bit in the sheets, rubbing at his hair and eyes in frustration. All the while, you begin to stand, and gather your things. You keep your expression guarded, and at least attempt to look professional.

“Bye, now.” You barely manage to say, and upon encountering his perplexed reaction, you immediately turn away. “Rest up.”

He nods, idly patting his face, as if feeling for something that isn’t there.

And when you move to finally, finally leave him and everything you’ve ever had with him behind –

Komaeda’s a mess, Komaeda’s falling apart, Komaeda doesn’t know why he feels so grief-stricken and pained, Komaeda’s asking to the empty air, “Why … am I crying…? What’s wrong with me?”

– you pretend you don’t hear a thing. 


End file.
